Chuck is the author of the published novels: Blackbirds, Mockingbird, Under the Empyrean Sky, Blue Blazes, Double Dead, Bait Dog,Dinocalypse Now, Beyond Dinocalypse and Gods & Monsters: Unclean Spirits. He also the author of the soon-to-be-published novels: The Cormorant, Blightborn (Heartland Book #2), Heartland Book #3, Dinocalypse Forever, Frack You, and The Hellsblood Bride. Also coming soon is his compilation book of writing advice from this very blog: The Kick-Ass Writer, coming from Writers Digest.

He, along with writing partner Lance Weiler, is an alum of the Sundance Film Festival Screenwriter’s Lab (2010). Their short film, Pandemic, showed at the Sundance Film Festival 2011, and their feature film HiM is in development with producers Ted Hope and Anne Carey. Together they co-wrote the digital transmedia drama Collapsus, which was nominated for an International Digital Emmy and a Games 4 Change award.

Chuck has contributed over two million words to the game industry, and was the developer of the popular Hunter: The Vigil game line (White Wolf Game Studios / CCP). He was a frequent contributor to The Escapist, writing about games and pop culture.

Much of his writing advice has been collected in various writing- and storytelling-related e-books.

He currently lives in the forests of Pennsyltucky with wife, two dogs, and tiny human.

He is likely drunk and untrustworthy. This blog is NSFW and probably NSFL.

Chuck Wendig is a novelist, screenwriter, and game designer. This is his blog. He talks a lot about writing. And food. And pop culture. And his kid. He uses lots of naughty language. NSFW. Probably NSFL. Be advised.

25 Things Writers Should Know About Conferences And Conventions

Con season is almost over, so that tells me it’s a most excellent time to write a post about con season! Right? Right? Fellas? Where you goin’, fellas? WHATEVER FINE JUST LEAVE.

Anyway.

I figured that writers go to conventions and conferences year-round, so it’s a good idea to talk to you penmonkeys about what to do there, what to expect, where to find me drunk at 3AM (hint: parking garage inside a duffel bag). If you’re looking for more general “con etiquette” stuff, I might recommend this wise post by the most excellent Colleen Lindsay: Convention Etiquette For Fans, Pros, And Exhibitors.”

1. Hint: The Writers Are At The Bar

Let’s just get this one out of the way right now: if you’re wondering where the writers are, they’re at the bar. No, seriously. I’m not saying they’re there getting lit up like a Christmas tree — despite the myth, not all writers are rampant liquor pigs — but the hotel (and/or nearest) bar is a place of social aggregation for the word-herd. We’re all at the watering hole, watering our, uhh, holes.

2. Know What You Want Out Of It

Go to a conference or convention with a goal and a plan to achieve that goal. (That goal should not be: “Stowaway in Neil Gaiman’s luggage so you can return with him to his magical story-land,” or “Discover whatever tugboat George R.R. Martin is captaining and steal it for a joyride.”) Honing your craft? Discovering publishing options? Just there to geek out with your freak out? Have the end result in mind and arrange your conference (talks, panels, booth visits) accordingly.

3. Purpose #1: Go To Up Your Game

One of the “primary purposes” of a conference or convention is to hone your authorial blade. Our weapons all grow dull and rusty with over-use and sometimes you go to these things hoping to whet them against the many stones present. The goal is to get better. To learn new things. Our brains need new information, and conventions and conferences (heretofore referred to as “cons”) will give you that.

4. Purpose #2: Go To Meet People

Another primary purpose is just to meet people. Writer seems a solitary job and, of course, it is. We shimmy into our musty, fetid author pods, shut the door, then hook our skulls and fingers up to the electrodes that connect us to the Galactic Story Blob where we operate in total isolation (well, that’s how I do it, anyway, you probably have a “desk” with a “computer”). Still, writers need community. They need other writers. They need agents and editors and marketing dudes and, above all else, they need readers. So, cons are great places to meet people. It’s about forging connections both business and personal.

5. Human Meets Human, Not Writer-Bot Plugs Into Publishing Receptacle

Worth repeating: when I say “connections,” I don’t mean in a purely business sense. Trust me, your con experience is going to be at its weakest when you approach it as All Business. I’ve seen those writers and they’re always “on.” They’re also very irritating, like buzzing fluorescents with a horsefly constantly tapping against the bulb. Go to make friends. Or at least acquaintances. Hear their stories, tell a few of your own. Connect on a human level, not in a “LET US FORGE COMMERCE ARRANGEMENT” way.

6. You Should Totally Say Hello To Your Favorite Writers

I speak as a writer who is deliriously excited when a reader (or for me the rara avis, a “fan”) comes up and says hello. Not only does it stroke my constantly inflating-and-deflating ego (it’s like the lungs of a tired old horse, I swear), but it also confirms that, hey, this thing I’m doing is actually reaching people. I know some writers — er, really, “authors” — don’t want anyone to come say ‘boo’ to them, but you know what? Fuck them. That’s fine for like, the grocery store, but they’re at a con. If you’re a pro at one of these things, appreciate your readers, don’t elbow them in the neck and shove past. Readers are how we get to exist.

7. But Seriously, Don’t Be A Fuckin’ Weirdo About It

Okay, yes, go say hello to your favorite writermonkeys. But, hey, also? Don’t be a crazy-pants asshole about it. Don’t dominate their time. Don’t get pushy. Don’t be rude. Don’t be mean. Don’t cling like a dingleberry. Don’t challenge them about typos or plot points. Let them eat in peace. Let them pee in peace. Let them sleep in peace. (Everything else is probably fair game.) You want them to respect you so you have to respect them in turn. That’s the human contract. That’s how we all win the game is by being respectful to one another instead of just splashing douche into each other’s eyes again and again.

8. On The Subject Of Book Signings

Deserves special attention: some authors don’t want to sign books outside of designated signing periods, and that’s understandable. An author who will generate a line around the block doesn’t want that line generated when he’s trying to cross the lobby to get a bottle of water or when he’s outside the hotel trying to hide a couple hobo bodies. Others, however (like, erm, me), will sign books whenever you thrust them upon us. Hell, I’ll sign body parts, pets, children, other people’s books, souls. I’ll sign anything except, say, checks. Point is, know your limits, respect the authors. Double-true: don’t ask them to sign like, a suitcase full of books. Triple-true: we appreciate it when you have us sign books to someone specific rather than a generic autograph which then vaguely suggests you’re gonna turn around and sell that shit online.

9. On The Subject Of Being Creepy

Deserves extra-special attention: don’t get stalkery, don’t corner anybody of any sex, don’t inappropriately touch people, don’t get suggestive or act rapey or be in any way threatening toward others in a violent or violating manner. “But she was dressed in duct-tape bra-and-panties,” is not a good reason to get grabby. They’re not hookers. Trying to look sexy is not an invitation for you to get sexy with them anymore than me wearing a shirt with a bullseye is good enough reason to fire an arrow through my chest. Be conscious of acting creepy, scary, grabby, etc. Bonus reading: on creepy creepers who creepily creep.

10. Don’t Get Stupid Drunk

At a con, people drink. And drinking means getting a little silly. Silly is good. Silly is fine. Nobody expects you to have a couple gin-and-tonics and drive a car, operate a firearm, or negotiate peace between two warring galactic races. But don’t be a rum-sodden barf-bag, either. If you can’t feel your teeth and you puke in my lap, you’ve got a problem. You don’t want writers, agents or editors remembering you as “That dude who got blitzkrieged on Jager-bombs and took a shit on a plastic fern in the hotel lobby.”

11. You’re Not Actually The Expert

Pet peeve time! Unless you’re actually on the panel, assume you’re not the expert in the room. It is not your time to shine, you crazy diamond. Ask questions, but let other people ask questions, too. And also: don’t be “that guy” who just raises his hand and then stands up and makes a statement like everyone’s here to see you. “Well, I think the state of space opera is blibbedy-blobbedy-bloo and I disagree with…” HOLY CRAP SHUT UP. This is not an Internet forum, Selfish Guy. You don’t have to enlighten us with your “genius.”

12. Arrive Early For Things

Pet peeve again! Coming into any event late is a dick move. I’ve done it, and I regret having done it. You make noise. You distract. For some reason whenever someone comes in late they always maximize the disruption, too, like, they’re carrying a stack of rattling dinner plates and have cymbals between their thighs and then stagger in and trip over a projector cord and accidentally start an electrical fire. Eeesh. Seriously, get their early. That helps you get a seat, too, so, yay.

13. Ask The Right Questions

I talked this past week about how you should ask the questions about story before you ask the questions about publishing, and what that means in a practical sense is that you should goasking questions regarding your place in the process. That’s not to say you can’t get ahead and ask a curious question or three about advances and contracts and how to enrage a literary agent, but what I’m saying is, use the conference to help you get a handle on the next stage, not three stages down the way. One step at a time.

Another purpose: to sell thine wares, story-slinging troubadour. You got books or other items of cultural output you want to pimp, awesome. Go forth and do so. But a suggestion: try to stick to approved commercial channels. Don’t just like, set up a tarp in the middle of the lobby to sell your self-published bag of shi — I mean, magnum opus to passersby. Yes, we all gotta make a buck and buy dinner but as always, be respectful of others and don’t act like an only child who always gets to do what he wants, others-be-damned.

15. Nobody Wants To Hear About Your Book (Unless They Do)

At game cons, the joke is always, “Nobody wants to hear about your character.” (Seriously, we don’t.) At writing cons, the joke is, “Nobody wants to hear about your book.” (No, seriously, we don’t.) Now, I may eventually want to hear about your book but only after we’ve connected on a human level. Assume that I don’t automatically see you as just a bag of skin meant only to transport the intellectual meat that is your novel. I assume that like me you’re a person with parents and a job and favorite ice cream flavors and a penchant for deviant-but-consensual sex acts. I don’t care about your book until I care, at least a little bit, about you. If someone wants to know what you’ve written or are writing, they will ask.

16. Clean Your Body, You Musky Stank Beast

A convention (larger geek/fan contingent) tends to have this problem more than conferences (larger pro-level academic contingent), but I’ve experienced it at both: wash yourself. Uh, daily, please — hell, more than that if you have to. Cons are often warm. You’re jostling with people, running around, and you end up in close quarters (like, say, elevators). You will leak sweat. You will start to smell like a glob of Edam cheese left in a jockstrap under a heat lamp. Scrub the algae and barnacles from forth your hull, you stinky little garbage scow. Oh, and brush your teeth. The hell did you eat for lunch? Old fish and cigarettes?

17. Escape Conference Gravity

Leave the con at some point. At least once. If you’re somewhere new — small town, big city, jungle cult compound — get outside and go see something. The real world always counts more than the “artificial gravity” that is any conference or convention. Even if you go do base-level tourist shit and eat at a restaurant everyone tells you you have to eat it, it’s at least something.

18. Pros Should Act Like Pros

This list has been directed toward attendees, but here’s a message for pros: you are professional, so act professional. That doesn’t mean you need to be always in “paid author” mode, but it does mean you should maintain a standard of etiquette and, as with everyone else there, not act like a wheelbarrow full of fatty ego and emotional manure. Respect attendees. Be kind. Be nice to volunteers, too, who are — uhh, duh — volunteering their time in part for you. Be awesome even in the face of “not-awesome.”

19. Some Writers Are Paid, Many Are Not

Many of the writers speaking at cons are not paid. Some are. Most aren’t. Know that going in: they are often themselves volunteering their time. It’s not like they’re going back to the hotel room to roll around in cash.

20. Some Writers Are Also Total D-Bags, Just So You Know

It’s a shame, but sometimes that “beloved writer” of yours is a total cock-bird. We don’t get into this gig having to pass a politeness test, so some authors end up being gruff, grumpy, sour, otherwise shitty people. Sometimes it’s temporary: maybe they’re having a bad day. Sometimes it’s a permanent affliction. Let it go. You can choose to vote with your dollar, but don’t be a dickhole in return. Let the storm pass.

21. Elevator Pitches And Pitch Meetings: Meh?

Take this one with a grain of salt — or, if you prefer, an entire salt mine — but I’m not sure that pitch meetings or having your elevator pitch ready to fly is the most important thing in the world. It’s probably worked for some, but…? Eh? I’m going to go out on a limb and say, skip the pitch meetings. Instead, meet agents and editors elsewhere. And meet the authors of those agents and editors. Regarding your elevator pitch: listen, it’s a very good intellectual exercise to distill your story down into a single 10- or 15-second sentence. Again, I don’t know that it’s ever been the deal-maker, but when people ask, it’s kind of you to not bludgeon them half to death with the hammerblow of a ten-minute plot synopsis.

22. Do Not Thrust Your Manuscript Upon, Well, Anybody

I see people handing out manuscripts — like, hand-printed, hand-bound manuscripts, fraying like a mouse is using them as nesting material — all the time at conferences and conventions. Worse, they’re handing them out to people who can do nothing with them. “Here, random author, you are an author and I am an author so let us commune over my novel, THE GORGONZOLA PERPLEXITY.” Don’t do this. Not ever. Stop. Keep that manuscript in your pants. First, this is the digital age. If I want your novel, hey, look, a PDF file. Don’t try to make someone carry your printout in their luggage. Second, what do you want them to do with it? Most authors don’t want to read unsolicited material (hint hint stop emailing me this stuff) because of a hoary host of unholy reasons. You know what I’ll do if you hand me your manuscript at a conference? I’m going to roll it up and thwack you across the bridge of your nose.

23. Do Not Hand Out Ugly-Ass Amateur Hour Business Cards

Your business card sucks. Printed at home. The ink is bleeding as if you dropped it in a puddle outside. It’s got a Cheeto fingerprint on the back. It smells of — *sniff sniff* — flopsweat and wine coolers. Here’s the thing. Business cards are already a dubious value proposition for writers. Freelancers may find good use for them but “author-types,” not so much. This is, after all, the days of a thing called the Enternit, or the Wide Whirled Web or whatever, and so it’s pretty easy for people to find you online. A business card needs to be a nudge in that direction. Name; incredibly minimal note as to your role; contact information offline; contact information online (which includes how you want me to find you on social media). If that business card does not appear on par with the kind of card, say, an actual businessperson would use, just throw it away, because that’s what I’ll do. Oh, one more tip: only give out a business card if someone asks. That means they’ll use it. Otherwise, just thrusting it upon them means it’ll end up lining someone’s hamster cage.

24. You’re Probably Paying Money, So Take Advantage

Cons aren’t cheap. So milk them for all they’re worth.

25. Talking About Writing Is Not The Same As Writing

The fourth and final purpose of going to these things is to get your ass reenergized. The con should be the intellectual equivalent of jacking yourself up (up, not off, weirdo) with a Red-Bull-and-fire-ants enema. It should get you back in your chair pounding the keys and working the story like a goddamn wad of pizza dough. What that means is, go to the con and then return to use what you learned. Revitalize! Harness new information! Going to cons can, like so many things in our penmonkey lives, feel productive when really, it’s not. It’s only productive if you take the raw ore you just chipped off the psychic walls and refine that shit into precious stones and glittery gems and sweet, sweet crack-rock. Always remember that talking about writing is not the same as writing. You built the staircase. Now you best walk up it. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Promise I’ll keep it short. At a con, after we had left the venue for dinner, one friend said “let’s check the bar.” We went in and, sitting ALONE, was Peter Straub. For like 15 seconds that is . . . Y’all may be cool, but we were close down the damn bar with Peter Straub cool. With a side order of Jeffery Deaver. At another con I made the potential commerce arrangement of my fledging career.

On point 12: last year at Philcon, during an editor’s panel, this guy walks in pretty late, wearing the biggest, oddest anime costume, with a headpiece, and lots of dangling parts that made noise when he moved. Talk about distracting.

Additional concerning costumes: about 10 years ago, I had no choice but to attend the Pittsburg comicon dressed up (really, I had no choice). I had planned to show my design portfolio around in hopes of landing anything related to comics publication design. I remember Jim Valentino and Jeff Smith in particular sort of disregarding me, like “yeah, yeah, okay, thanks.” So, I learned…if you want to be taken seriously at a con, leave the costume at home. (Common sense, I know.)

Re: #21 I’ve only found myself needing the elevator pitch for the cases you mentioned — when someone (usually another writer being polite) asks what I write.

BUT, I will give a plug for the awesomeness of pitch meetings, with the caveat that the writer has done their research and only pitches to those that would be interested. I just recently did a query round and 2 of the 3 agents that offered were the two agents I pitched to at RWA this summer and both mentioned in the call my pitch and how memorable it was and made them excited to read it.

You might be my favorite person on Earth, and I am not trying to be a fucking weirdo. Thank you for this, as I am seconds away from Backspace, and run the risk of sucking it big time if I don’t pay careful attention.

All good points, Wendig. I’d add for the writerly: try to score an invite to the SFWA suite (if you’re not a member already) (or other appropriate parties/suites) where pros often hang out. Hotel bars close notoriously early. After midnight you can find some cool writers and editors hanging in the suites. I’ve found magic tends to happen there.

If you really must diss that bestselling book, including snarky comments and hand signals, make sure the person you are talking to is not, unbeknown to you, the author of said book…

Yeah the elevator pitch is great for when someone asks about your book – a quick ‘It’s like Bladerunner only with wizards instead of replicants’ or whatever is all that the person probably wants. Not a page by page blow of the plot.

But I think the most important thing to remember is this: Be yourself. Your most politest, nicest, professional self, but yourself just the same. Don’t push yourself or your writing (but be prepared if someone asks). Just engage in the conversation.

Also, if the writers aren’t in the bar, they may well be out having a ciggy, and standing in the naughty corner, you can meet a lot of people who are just having a relax.

I don’t get to leave the house often, but once I did get to a conference. In the lobby, a well-known author strode through like he had to pee with a man following him, waving papers and shouting “Mr. X, Mr. X, I love you. Will you look at my work?” Coming through, desperation jogging.

Alas, and ayuh, I suppose there’s a problem with dropping the “secret” at #1. If you are going to a con because you are a writer or aspire to be a writer be sure to connect #18 with #1. Please be reasonable, folks. Just because you can *find* the writers at the bar doesn’t mean you can *join* the writers at the bar.

True, some big city hotels have multiple bars and restaurants, and in that case a subtle or not-so-subtle filtering will occur. Pay attention to the boundaries of groups. If there’s just people filtering in an out, fine, filter in and become part.

Elsewise, if you see the GoH (that’s Guest of Honor for newbies) in quiet conversation with one or two others you don’t recognize in a quiet corner of the quiet bar and you’ve once sent that GoH an email admiring their use of colors in Chapter 3 of the 3rd book of their 3rd series and got a “Gee, thanks, glad you saw that and you’re still reading, watch for book 6, coming soon” response that doesn’t mean you should stride right in, say hello, and make yourself at home. If you are recognized and urged to join, do, but if not, be circumspect. Those people in the quiet spot might be plotting an assignation, a three book deal, a run to the liquor store and chocolate shop, a stop for dinner at the Mongolian barbecue across town –or all of the above! — but that’s their business. Do not rush them nor share the news you may have gleaned from snoopy listening. Srsly don’t do it.

All seemingly common sense to me, except #8. When I go to a book signing, often, I am not only getting the author’s most recent release, but bringing the beloved books that lead me to my appreciation and/or fandom. Given that multiple books is okay at the signing (some authors can’t do that – er, GRRM, Judy Blume, etc.), I feel like asking them to personalize each one is asking too much. I also have a name that requires repetitive spelling. No one seems to hear it correctly. I stand there like a complete Dybwad spelling it out phonetically…feeling the wrath of the line behind me. Therefore, I’ve asked to just have them sign my name. I see now why I’ve sometime gotten the stink eye. I’m a bibliophile. My books that are autographed are my prized possessions. I do not plan on selling them on the internet. I’ll keep it mind for the future, I suppose. Yet, not sure I’ll change my behavior on that one.

Another great rule that I learned is the 3-2-1 rule. No less than 3 hours of sleep (which I truly would change to 6), eat two meals a day, and shower 1 time a day during your con schedule.

I live in Los angeles and would love to see you speak at Storyworld. The problem is that it’s very expensive and seems to deal with multiple platforms of writing. I’m an absolute beginner so it’s hard to think past just writing my book right now.

I looked at the schedule and other than you there is only one other program, Phenomenal Work, that is of interest to me right now. They all seem interesting, I guess a better choice of words would be relevant to my limited experience.

What to do? On the plus side I’m very clean and presentable.

Have you considered doing a freebie meet and greet with fans in the bar area? Drinks are on me, for you not the other fans of your work.

Remi Jones: Having presented at Storyworld last year, I would venture to say that it’s not really a beginner show. It’s very much aimed at people already working in the field.

As per Chuck’s #13 (and the link within it), if as you say “it’s hard to think past just writing your book right now”, that’s the perfect indication of where your attention should be. Write the hell out of it, and then worry about conferences and networking, etc.

I don’t drink so I’ll be the sissy at the bars in the Dahlonega Literary Festival this November. I’m a stickler for #23. If I learned one thing from American Psycho, it’s chainsaws can be projectile weapons and invest in good business cards. My skin burns when someone hands off a fuzz edged, home printed card. For the money and labor you wasted at office depot, you can have decent cards for less than $20.00.

Any advice on dress code? No t-shirts, jeans and tweed jackets with leather elbows. No smoking pipes? Overalls. Anything?

I was a guest at Archon this weekend, and in one panel we had a guy in the front row who asked so many questions and chimed in so much that people literally came up to me after asking if he was the moderator. I tried to answer questions for other people as much as possible, but that guy kept butting in.

I’m a bit surprised you didn’t mention costumes/dress code, but I suppose that’s more of a geek convention thing than a writer conference issue.

I’ll echo the above sentiment about not dressing up at cons if you’re there as a writer/artist/pro/whatever. Some people can get away with it, but if you’re trying to show that you’re a professional adult that someone should hire to do stuff, that’s much harder if you’re dressed like Snake Plisken.

In general I’d just suggest making sure your clothes are clean and not raggedy. Wear comfortable shoes. Maybe dress a bit nicer than the average con goer, leave your stained Red Dwarf t-shirt at home.

Is it O.K. if it’s your first time ever at a con to sit at the end of the bar and observe the interactions of others until you feel comfortable with the people. (Couldn’t help giggling over the usage of “the people”, like they’re all aliens or something.)

Your illustration above is excellent. I can tell that you were serious yet relaxed during whatever speech you were giving. What really gave it away that you weren’t uncomfortable is the fact that your not “choking your mic.” That’s always encouraging to see. (Unless I’m totally over analyzing the damn thing and it’s something you cooked up in Photoshop just to give this post something else amusing to look at other than your expletives.)

Never again do I have to write a post on conference etiquette and goals – I can link here and say “Go forth and seeketh Wendig, the Chuck Norris of the writing Interwebz.”

I speak at conferences in my publishing attorney role and (starting this fall) in my author role, and I happen to be in your “answer all questions and sign anything except checks, anywhere but the bathroom and my hotel room” camp. When I get tired, or need a moment, I go to the room and stay there until I’m ready to interact again (this doesn’t happen often but it can).

That said – I’m also one of those people who tends to answer a question and then follow up with “tell me how you’re enjoying the conference – what’s been your favorite presentation so far?” And it surprises me how many people are totally unprepared to answer – I’m not sure whether they’re startled that someone with a “presenter badge” asked them a question or just were expecting me to blab on ad nauseam (or both).

But yeah…be ready to actually have a conversation with those authors and presenters you approach. Some may be raging bags of ego but others … well, we’re as interested in hearing about you as you are in talking to us. I’m just sayin’

Fabulous post. Re: #9 I watched a guy in line for a convention dinner (he manscaped his hair like Wolverine) blab his head off about his entomology expertise to a woman ahead of him (much younger) who was clearly trying to end the conversation and turn away. I was silently hoping she’d kick him in the (ahem) “shins” and tell him to shut up. Or maybe she’d morph into a mantis and chew his head off, although he’d still keep talking.

A hand in hand tangent with #12… Even if you’re on time, don’t be disruptive, i.e. Shut your damn phone off.

Or Myke Cole will scold you. At Boskone back in Feb I was at a panel where he scolded an old guy who’s phone went off very loudly. He was in mid sentence, pointed, scolded, and went back to his sentence without breaking a stride. It was actually pretty awesome.

#9 – if you’re fortunate enough to be a guest or vendor at a con with special Green Room/VIP suite access, remember It’s chili and nachoes, not cavier and Russo-Baltique, and do not stare at your writer/celebrity-crush as if you’ve never seen another human being eat before.

#14, #15, and #22 – It’s not uncommon as vendors for my Writing Group to give copies of our Annual Anthology to our favorite celebrities – I think a certain SPX God has a copy of every one of our anthos- but we *always* ask if they’d like one and we don’t get bent out of shape when they refuse. Not everyone reads, has the time to read, or reads horror. It’s all good.

We used to have a member take a copy around to all of the signing tables and ask celebrities to pose with the book. He’d grumble when they refused – as if he was entitled because of their celebrity, like they owed him. In hindisght, posing with a book sight unseen is generally a bad idea because it implies endorsement – especially if the celebrity in question either isn’t getting a copy of the book, or is getting a copy so full of typos and errors they send a PI around to retrieve the camera, the digital cards, any prints, and they break your fingers for good measure. This is why a lot of our of con photos have pictures of our books posed with Playboy Playmates, WWE Ring Girls, and the ocasional porn star.

Which is not the rousing enmdorsement for future readership one might think.

One additional point; getting a published author to read your book is not going to get you published. Authors write books, publishers publish books. If your favourite author reads and loves your book, they may consent to a one-line comment on the cover. You still have to find a publisher yourself first.

Funny and great advice! Too bad I didn’t read this before I broke into the huddle of editors hiding under the stairs at a recent conference. I was all like, “I want to introduce myself,” and they were all like, “Run, here comes an aspiring author. We authors are HOT and aspiring authors are NOT!”

I know, right? I love this. So much that I’m here seconding the for-the-win a year and a half after the fact. This is nine hundred levels of awesome. This should be on a t-shirt. This should be on billboards. This should be EVERYWHERE.

I have often seen people wanting to do number 4 (go meet people) focus all their time on number 10 (get stupid drunk). This usually enables them to do number 4, but probably not in the way they envisaged in front of the mirror.